


kitchen myths

by ourdarkspirits



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdarkspirits/pseuds/ourdarkspirits
Summary: Spock and Uhura have a night in





	kitchen myths

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to redbells for helping me figure out the ending and the title  
> Inspired by this post: http://psicygni.tumblr.com/post/159174853156/nerdyveganrunner-too-much-garlic-is-a-myth

Spock is in the kitchen ascertaining that everything is in order when he hears the knock. He walks calmly to the door and opens it to see Nyota there with grocery bags in hand. 

“Good evening.” His voice is level and measured as he takes in the sight of his former student.

“Hi,” she responds warmly. He stands in the doorway regarding her, taking time to appreciate that she is here, at his apartment. A curious look spreads across her face. “Are you going to let me in?”

It occurs to him then that they have been standing in his doorway for too long and he moves aside. “Of course. Please, come in.”

Nyota steps inside and he closes the door behind her. He has not backed away and now she is practically close enough to be touching as she pauses to remove her shoes at the door. Spock restrains himself from reaching out to her. Instead, he walks back to the kitchen and she follows him.

The break is rapidly winding down and Nyota had suggested commemorating its end along with the end of their first month dating. Though such a celebration is illogical, Spock had seen the value of spending time with her and had suggested she come to his apartment for dinner. Now, she is here in his apartment. He is not nervous.

She follows him into the kitchen and sets the bags on the kitchen table. “Is this ok?” she asks, tilting her head just slightly as if she’s reading him. She is surprisingly adept at it.

He nods ever so slightly. “It is acceptable. Do you require my help?”

He feels exposed when she looks at him like that, like she’s seeing everything that he has so carefully masked all his life, but he finds it does not bother him as much as it used to. After a moment she answers, “I don’t think so. Do you mind if I find my way around your kitchen?”

“I do not,” Spock replies. He stands for a moment longer, at a loss for what to do with himself while she begins making herself at home in his kitchen. 

Nyota finds his pots and pans in cabinet by his stove, which he rarely uses, preferring the efficiency of the replicator. She selects a saucepan and a deep pot and sets them on the stove. He wants to tell her where to find the cutting boards and knives, which she obviously needs, but he knows she wants to find these items herself and he has already informed her he does not mind her finding her way.

“Gaila came back today from her trip,” Nyota informs her conversationally. “A couple of her other friends invited her out to the family cabin, I guess.”

“Did she find the experience enjoyable?” Spock asks, genuinely curious about Gaila’s experiences. He finds Nyota’s roommate a pleasant conversation partner with many unique and unexpected perspectives on her field and Federation culture. 

“I think so,” Nyota replies. She’s pulling potatoes from the bags to wash. “She went with me to the store so she would have time to tell me about it today.” Her smile is bright when she looks at him. 

“And she did not come here with you?” Spock asks, raising his eyebrow just slightly.

Nyota turns and grins at him as he had intended and says, “Nope. She said something vague about previous engagements or something.”

“She does not wish to interfere in the night’s activities,” Spock clarifies and is rewarded with a blush. The rise of blood in Nyota’s face should not generate such a pleasant response in him, but he finds it does. 

“Something like that,” she mutters. The potatoes are boiling and she drains the pot and begins mashing them.

“May I ask what you are making?” Spock asks.

“You may,” she responds, her expression telling him she is teasing him. She adds flour and egg to the mixture but does not elaborate further.

“What are you making?” Spock tries again. 

“Gnocchi,” Nyota answers. “It’s kind of messy, but it’s worth it,” she elaborates as she rolls out the dough onto his table, which she has dusted with flour. 

Spock watches her roll it out and shape it into small dumplings before refilling a pot with water and setting it to boil. He stands to help her clean up while she prepares the ingredients for her sauce. She pulls a head of garlic from one of her grocery bags and begins pulling off cloves, tossing the skin back into the bag to dispose of later.

He watches as the cloves pile up and the head diminishes with some trepidation. He does not want to indicate that he questions her abilities or her judgment, yet he cannot resist as she adds another clove to the growing pile.

“Are you sure that is not too much garlic?” he asks, indicating the small pile on his cutting board.

“Spock,” Nyota gives him a look. He has received this look in the past, pointing out what he had considered to be flaws in her argument, which she then defended vigorously and successfully. He expects the same level of defense tonight as she has exhibited before, perhaps an elaboration on how the garlic will contribute to the flavor of the dish. Instead she says, “Too much garlic is a myth invented by other flavors so that we’d care about them.”

This is not the answer Spock was expecting. In the past, she had answered such questions with sound reasoning. She is, he believes, joking with him. 

“Flavors do not have sentience and so cannot perpetuate a myth about garlic,” Spock points out. “Therefore, I cannot accept your statement as true.”

“It’s totally true,” she says as she starts crushing garlic and depositing the papery skin in her grocery bag. “There’s no such thing as too much garlic.”

“That may be, however--” Spock begins, but Nyota cuts him off.

“Spock, trust me. It’ll be good.”

“I do,” he answers before he has had time to formulate a response more appropriate to her tone.

She stops mincing the garlic and looks up at him. Though it is illogical to wish the past undone, he finds himself searching for some way to return to their earlier levity. She has always been able to read him so well that she can have no doubt as to the weight of his statement. He does not want her to think he has moved too quickly when their relationship is still so new.

“Yeah?” she asks quietly. 

“I would not say it if I did not mean it,” Spock answers carefully. He does not add that he means more than that, but she seems to understand him anyway. She always does. 

She smiles warmly at him. “Me, too,” she says. Spock understands her meaning. 

She finishes chopping garlic and drops into a sautée pan with olive oil. “The gnocchi doesn’t take very long to cook, so I like to have everything else ready before I put it in the water.”

The sauce she is making is cream based. “I see,” Spock replies. 

Once again, Nyota correctly interprets his silence and says, “Don’t worry I’m making a salad, too, but you have to try the gnocchi.”

“I will,” Spock replies.

She smiles at him and the atmosphere lightens. She finishes making the sauce and starts the salad. Seeing that she is almost done, Spock begins setting the table. Within minutes they are sitting down at the the little table in his kitchen to Nyota’s dinner. She has not led him astray. The meal, as she had promised, is satisfactory and he tells her as much, earning him another warm smile. 

“I told you,” Nyota says slyly as they’re cleaning up dinner. “Too much garlic is a myth.”

“You did,” Spock replies easily. “I believe I told you I trusted you.”

“You did,” she says, mimicking his phrase. Her expression is warmer and less playful than before, but no less pleasing. She hands him the last dish to dry, which he does. When his hands are once again empty, she turns to him and wraps her arms around his waist, tilting her head back to look at him. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Nyota.” 

This, he thinks, is why the declaration of trust had come so easily. His relationship with her, while not simple, is easy.


End file.
